Triumph Of The Squib
by Cranshaw
Summary: 22-year-old Audacia Willis had always thought she was a Squib - until she gets her Hogwarts letter, eleven years late. But why are there so few new first-years? Post-Harry timescale - Rose Weasley is the new Headmistress, new threats, new adventures, new the lot! First person POV so Mary-Sue trolls beware.
1. Chapter 1

Triumph Of The Squib

Chapter One – 11 Years Late

I had been browsing Memebase, trying to distract myself from my impending essay on 'Perceptions of Magic in Late Mediaeval Britain'. When I first chose my university course, and then my modules, and dissertation topic, I had thought that studying the history of Magic from the Muggle point of view would be really clever and interesting. Of course, my parents being wizards, I had a unique viewpoint. Of course, my parents being wizards, my unique viewpoint was useless to the Muggle lecturers. I had to start at the beginning, like everyone else. Worse, all the many books which we had on our shelves at home from that time period, describing the interactions (often awful on both sides) between wizardkind and Muggles were useless. They were covered under the Statutes of Secrecy, and I couldn't reference them in any of my work. Even now, my professors kept underlining sentences in my essays with notes which said, _Where are you getting this?_

An owl fluttered to the window, and I barely raised my head. It tapped impatiently at the glass, and I realised that no-one else was going to fetch its post. Sighing, one leg half-asleep, I stumbled out of my swivel chair and let the bird in. As I took the letters from its leg, it fluttered over to stand on top of the mini-fridge which my parents kept stocked with dead voles. Clearly the news of the voles had got around among the local population.

Owl fed, I looked back at the letters. Bill. Bill. Boring round-robin from Aunt Cerania claiming that if you didn't forward it to ten other people your wand would explode. Bill. Advert for Floo pizza delivery (for once, a good idea – probably a Muggleborn business model). A thick, white parchment envelope with a green wax seal.

This was the only item of interest. I flipped it over, and my heart stopped.

_Audacia Willis_

_32, Longbourn Avenue_

_Great Harwich_

_Rutland_

_Dear Miss Willis,_

_I am writing to inform you that you have been offered a place..._

It was my Hogwarts letter. Only eleven years late.

I was a Squib. I had always been a Squib. My eleventh birthday had come and gone, and my parents had been disappointed, but not surprised. Neither of them was particularly powerful, and my uncle Ronald had been a Squib too (despite his illustrious name). I had grown to accept my fate, boned up on my Literacy and Numeracy, gone to Muggle secondary school, done quite well. I hadn't entirely renounced the wizarding world, but it seemed to have turned its back on me.

What were they thinking?

Now more intrigued than surprised, I turned over the sheets of the standard acceptance letter, looking for a clue to what might have happened. The last page was written on more extravagant headed notepaper, straight from the Headteacher's office. The crest was a golden phoenix, which turned its head down as if to encourage me to read on.

_Dear Miss Willis,_

_I understand that receiving this letter may come as a shock to you. Thankfully I was able, in the course of our admissions process, to find your details at the Ministry of Records and make some allowances for your age and circumstances._

_As I am sure you will agree, taking the usual classes with the other first-years would not be appropriate to your situation. Therefore, it is with great pleasure and hope that I would like to offer you the post of Muggle Studies teacher for the first, second and third-year students. At this level, Muggle Studies is neither compulsory nor necessary for the vast majority of our students, so you should have plenty of time to complete your magical studies in private when not at the front of the classroom._

_I look forward to meeting you to discuss the position further; please let me know where and when you would like to meet. I await your reply as soon as possible by return owl,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Headmistress Rose Weasley_

A job at Hogwarts. After all this time, they had sent me the letter, and they were offering me a job. I started third year at university in October – I would have a month's leeway to decide whether I really wanted to take it on. I sat down again, startling the owl as my swivel chair rolled backwards into the mini-fridge. Not quite knowing what else to do, I automatically turned to the coping-mechanism of my generation, and updated my status.

_I'm giving up Facebook for a while, so if I don't reply to your messages, it's not because I hate you. This isn't a prank or a political statement or anything, I'm just going somewhere remote for a bit. You could try my phone but no guarantees there either. TTFN..._

Then I got out a clean sheet of parchment and a fountain pen, and turned on my best handwriting for the most important letter I would ever write.

Headmistress Weasley met me in Diagon Alley, at a little restaurant I knew run by Japanese wizards whose sushi was Flooed from Tokyo. It was expensive, but I reckoned it was a special occasion – and that the Headmistress could well afford to go Dutch.

"Well, Audacia – you don't mind if I call you Audacia?"

"Call me as you like, Headmistress."

"Rose, please. If you do decide to take up our offer, I'm sure we'll be working on very friendly terms."

"Indeed. "

"You must be wondering what on earth is going on."

"Somewhat!"

I realised I was being rude, and blushed. I was about to make excuses for myself, but Rose waved them away with her elegant sleeve.

"Please don't worry. To get to the point – it would seem, Audacia, that far from being a Squib as was originally thought, you are in fact a _very_ late developer."

"A tactful way of putting it," I murmured, not entirely sincerely.

"I suggest that the first thing we do after we have finished this excellent lunch is to go over to Ollivander's and fit you for a wand. It must be such a relief to discover that you do have magic after all this time!"

I paused. Had it been a relief? After all, although I had grown up with magic all around me at home, none of my friends at school after the age of eleven had even known of its existence. There had been no peer-pressure, no-one chanting 'Squib! Squib!' in the playground – not for the last eleven years. I had made a life for myself, such as it was. I had the latest Android. I was not bereft of magical items from Diagon Alley, like my Self-Brushing Hairbrush or Ever-Flatter Self-Adjusting Corset.

"It's been a shock, certainly," I settled. Rose seemed to detect my hesitation, and I averted my eyes.

"Let's head over there now," she said, "and we'll see how you feel about beginning your schooling then."

I had often passed Ollivander's – who hadn't? The dingy shop window was nevertheless noticeable, drawing the eye to its single display-wand with an almost hypnotic griminess. However, after that fateful birthday, I had never dared enter. The tinkling of the shop bell was like a herald of my new existence.

"Ah, Miss Audacia Emily Willis, how lovely to finally meet you. I fitted your parents' wands, do you know that?"

"Yes, Mr Ollivander."

"Seven inches; oak; dragon heartstring. A pair completing each other, most suitable for sturdy, dependable magic. I wonder if you will take after them?"

"Until now we assumed I took after Uncle Ronald."

Ollivander flinched. With his encyclopaedic knowledge of wizarding families, he had of course heard of Ron the Squib. I got the feeling that he resented those wizards who knew of his shop, and had never had any reason to come in.

"Let's see now... " he broke in, resuming his patter. He began to pull wands off the shelves, place them in my hand, and mutter, "Just give it a wave, Miss Willis, give it a wave..." Rose smiled encouragingly.

I waved wand after wand. After a while I began to notice the feeling of disjoint even as Ollivander placed them in my hand, and instinctively hand them back to him. I was still waiting for the marvellous feeling of elation and strength which I had read about to come to me fifteen, twenty minutes later. My feet in my inch-high heels began to ache with standing on the spot. To pass the time, I imagined which spell I would like to cast first. Aguamenti? Diffindo? A Transfiguation? Too ambitious. As Ollivander pattered on, and I got more and more impatient, I settled on my choice.

"Ah... eleven inches, unicorn hair, silver birch. Give it a wave, Miss Willis, give it a wa-"

I waved, just barely, and in my head I thought, _Silencio._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Squob

_Silencio..._ I thought.

I hadn't expected much, if anything, to happen – but I knew this was the right wand for me. If I hadn't managed the spell, I would just aim for a few sparks like everyone else, but I was so _annoyed..._

There was a sudden drop in the temperature of the room, and everything went quiet. After a few seconds, I startled as the noise of the street outside penetrated the room once more. I hadn't noticed that Diagon Alley was so loud before.

"Marvellous! Marvellous! Wordless magic on your first try!" Rose was ecstatic.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but it wasn't exactly my first try," I confessed. "I always used to practise Mum and Dad's wand-movements with a wooden spoon when I thought they weren't looking."

Rose was puzzled.

"Whatever for?"

"I thought it might come in handy – if – "

I stopped myself, aware that however sympathetic Rose might be to me now, Squibs were still marginalised in wizarding society. I had been about to say, 'in case I ever had to pass for a wizard and wanted to look clever.' Impersonating a wizard was punishable by two months in Azkaban – a Dementor-less prison, but not pleasant nonetheless.

"If you ever discovered that you did have magic?" she finished my sentence for me, and I nodded, over-relieved. Ollivander smirked. Mind-reader, I thought.

We left the shop, having purchased a duelling holster for my wand, and I asked about the rest of the things on my school list.

"Oh, Merlin, you needn't worry about that," chirruped Rose happily. "You can use the school's things. They can be better quality than what you'll pick up in the shops – proper cauldrons and so forth. All that you really need worry about is your curriculum."

I had almost forgotten, in the excitement of buying my wand, about the teaching post. I had never taught before – wouldn't that be a problem?

"Oh, you won't be the only one," smiled Rose. "Our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher isn't formally trained either."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Rose shook her head. "Hardly the most dangerous thing in Hogwarts – besides, I believe that for this position it is most important to have someone who really _knows the material_, if you know what I mean."

"A real Dark-Wizard-fighter, not a professor?"

"Exactly." Her lips twitched, and I could see that she was puzzling over something. "Have you given any thought to your lessons at all? Your teaching, I mean?"

"I have to say I haven't. The last few months I've been planning my dissertation for third year."

"Third year? I thought Muggle third-years were about thirteen?" She coloured, as she realised she had implied I was as bad at Muggle work as I was at magic.

"No, third year of university. After school."

"Ah." For someone with a Muggle-born mother, Rose certainly took after her father in terms of general Muggle Studies knowledge, I thought.

For the rest of my holiday, I prepared for my new life in Hogwarts. I could expect to spend at least seven years there – it was going to be a huge change. Thankfully I didn't have much stuff of my own to leave behind, but I did have friends. Muggle friends. And Muggle technology. God, was I going to miss that.

No more HBO series, not even on DVD. No more silly pictures of cats. No more live chat, no more mobile phone, no more ballpoint pen, no more Wikipedia at 2am. Just the Wizarding Wireless, which spent far too much time on dramatic interpretations of the Great War against Voldemort and Quidditch coverage for my liking, quills, parchment, and Floo. I could hardly call my Muggle friends on the Floo network.

The truth really hit me when I started trying to think up my curriculum for the third-years. Not having planned a syllabus before, I turned to the Internet for resources, and realised that I was going to have to bring all my worksheets with me when I went to Hogwarts. No cloud, no Dropbox, no forums. On the other hand, I was going to save a lot of money compared to my Muggle teaching colleagues. With my wand working, I could save a fortune on photocopying with a simple Twinning Charm. No need for a laminator – Impervio would do for that. I smiled. Perhaps I would find a use for magic after all.

Nothing had prepared me for the journey to Hogwarts. Yes, I had been on a train platform before, unlike many of the first-years used to Portkeys. I had even been on a steam train when I was twelve on a school trip. Yes, I had seen marvellous castles, great cathedrals in Europe, and the grand buildings of my university. I had known all these things. I wasn't shocked, like the Muggleborn children, by Chocolate Frogs or Every-Flavour Beans.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sensation of feeling so out of place. My wonder was not their wonder. My acceptance was not their acceptance. I was not a teacher – not really; I was not really a student. I was alone.

For the first time in my life since my eleventh birthday, I really felt every inch a Squib.

The groundskeeper met the children at the platform, and I was pleased to see Rose there waiting as well. She gave me a friendly wave, and beckoned me over.

"Did you have a pleasant journey?"

"Pleasant enough," I said, "although it's funny trying to get used to reading a physical book on the train again."

My Kindle had died as soon as I stepped through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Hopefully, it would turn on again when I got it home. Hopefully.

"Well, there'll be plenty of reading to do when we start the school year in earnest!" piped Rose, not entirely understanding me. "We will be taking a Thestral carriage to the castle, with the older children. I thought you might appreciate some company, besides which we still have to introduce you to the Hogwarts wards as a new member of staff."

The carriage journey didn't take long, as Rose spent the short time telling me all about the various hazards I should look out for on my first day in the castle. Apparently my office, newly created for the slightly superfluous member of staff, was a little... recalcitrant about being used after all these years.

"Just don't sit in the blue chair, and you'll be fine," said Rose. I did not even think of asking why not. With Hogwarts, I had read, it was wiser not to know.

We arrived at the edge of the wards, and I began to have a sneaking suspicion that I had left the oven on at home.

"Just ignore it, it's trying to work out if you should be here," said Rose lightly, but I did not feel so assured.

The Headmistress drew a circle on the ground with her wand, and at a light gesture it glowed golden – as did another line, a much larger curve which I realised must be the edge of the wards.

"Do step in, please."

I did so, feeling a slight tingle of static.

"Welcome the new Muggle Studies Professor and student of Hogwarts, Audacia Willis," said Rose in a commanding tone of voice. The larger curve began to bend, snapped forward and latched onto my golden circle. Golden tendrils felt around the edges; then, satisfied, retreated back into the original bow, and faded.

I realised now that despite her cheery, irreverent personality, Rose Weasley was as gifted a witch as her mother had been. This was powerful magic. Much more powerful than mine.

Our first stop within Hogwarts was Rose's office.

"You do need to be Sorted," she explained, "but I thought that we would have a little informal ceremony here before the Feast."

"Good plan," I agreed. I sat in the chair facing the desk, and looked about. My eyes found the portrait of Headmistress Mc Gonagall, recently departed from this world as well as her old post. She smiled down at me.

"Looking forward to your first year, Miss Willis?" she asked.

"A little nervous," I admitted.

"Don't worry," trilled the kindly Scotswoman. "Many of our students find that Sorting helps them to find their feet here. Your House will be like a second family."

The Sorting Hat itself stood on its stand, looking the worse for wear, but still with the same smirkish smile playing about its brim that I remembered from the pictures in my wizarding books. Rose got up from the throne-like Headteacher's chair, and picked up the Hat.

"Is this going to work?" I asked, suddenly really apprehensive. Rose gave the nervous grin that I was beginning to associate with 'I don't know the answer, but my mother never taught me to admit it.'

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she said, and lowered the Hat over my head.

I was surprised to find that the Hat actually fitted – it was, after all, an adult wizard's original hat. Thinking about it sitting on all those children down the years had got me confused.

_Well well well. It's a Squob._

_-A what?_

_A Squob. Just my little joke._

_-I don't think much of it._

_Well, never mind that. Where shall I put you? Bright, yes, but somehow I don't think Ravenclaw._

_-Too far behind, am I?_

_I was thinking more of your other traits. Even after all this time without magic, some part of you still thinks that you are better than others who have it._

_-Well, maybe I am. I've had to cope without, and I actually appreciate how most of the world works. Most of the witches and wizards I know are hopelessly insular._

_What a lot of big words you use, _echoed the voice of the Hat in my head. _Perhaps I should put you in Ravenclaw with the other show-offs..._

_-What's the matter with you? I thought you were supposed to be respectful of the different Houses. It's something to do with me, isn't it?_

_I can't help being put out, _grumbled the Hat. _I wasn't expecting you. It isn't natural. It isn't routine._

_-It's not particularly natural to me either,_ I retorted. _I'm going to try and make it a bit more homely though._

_Yes, I thought you would try something of the sort. It looks like we're in for a revolutionary year._

_-What do you mean by that?_

_SLYTHERIN!_

This last, I realised, had been out loud. The walls of the Headteacher's study muffled the sound somewhat, but it still rang in my ears. Slytherin. Well, now I knew.

I thought briefly of my Muggle possessions, how I was already missing my Kindle, my phone, and most of all, those flickers of electricity which kept me connected to my friends. The respect I had for technology was certainly nothing Salazar would have recognised, but I did want to find a way to bring those things here, to Hogwarts. Arrogance. Ambition. Drive.

Slytherin. Well, it was a funny old world.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three – The IT Room Of Requirement

It was very odd, taking a seat at the High Table with the rest of the staff. I had sat with the Fellows at formal dinners at university before, but this was different. Now I was one of Them.

My colleagues were a mixed bunch. Professor Longbottom was getting on in years, but a spry and twinkling chap who was still well capable of wrestling a Venomous Tentacula. Professor Potter was the Potions master, and particularly welcomed me as a fellow Slytherin. I could feel him eyeing me up, wondering what my game was, and accepted it as the natural course of things.

I had been seated next to Dylan Pratt, the Charms master. He was a slightly portly wizard, with a vain streak belied by his carefully polished shoes and immaculate robes. Nevertheless I liked him.

"I wonder when I might start getting those aperitifs I keep asking the house-elves to send up," he muttered, half to me and half to himself. "They do like to put on a show, but I hate twiddling my thumbs as they all file in."

The first-years were just beginning to enter the Hall, and they were shuffling over rather slowly – taking the time to admire the ceiling (which was marvellous), their fellow students (who were a mixture of mischievous-looking and blankly unwelcoming faces) and, on more than one occasion, their own nervous feet. Longbottom chuckled.

"I remember my Sorting – soaking wet I was – fell in the lake. Not for the last time!"

I decided that I liked the Herbology professor as well. Plenty of people were probably going to laugh at me over the next few years – I would have to learn to laugh at myself, and this old fellow looked like he had it down pat.

There didn't seem to be as many first-years as I had expected. I counted only twenty-four names as the Hat sorted each one.

"Aren't there usually more students?" I asked. Professor Potter assumed a studied grim expression. Pratt coughed awkwardly.

"I don't like to talk about it here," he said. "Look in the Prophet tomorrow."

Professor Potter showed me to my office. It wasn't far from the Slytherin common room, on the basement floor (as I kept thinking of it).

"I'm Head of Slytherin, so my office won't be far if you have any questions. Or ask a portrait, most of them are very helpful. They don't have much else to do all day except answer questions from students. Here you are –"

He pushed open an oak door, studded with iron nails, with the name _Professor Willis, Muggle Studies_ written on it. The office beyond was like some of the more luxurious university lodgings I had seen – ensuite bathroom and little bed-sitting room, with a study at the outside where I could receive students and work. The shelves were stacked with books – old-fashioned, wizarding books in leather and dragonhide bindings, with titles like _The Angry Muggle _and _Driving For Wizards – How Not To Break The Statutes Of Secrecy On Your First Try._

There were no Muggle books.

Suddenly there was a squeak, and I looked behind the desk to see a house-elf, who had been dusting the battons of the chair.

"Mistress Audacia!" squeaked the elf. "I is being Plinky, your housekeeper."

"Hello Plinky," I said. "And – I hate to say this – but it's I _am_, not _I is being._ What would Mistress Granger say if she heard you letting the side down like that?"

"Sorry Mistress Audacia," said Plinky, chastened. House-elf dialect, although some found it charming, had been one of the major obstacles on their way to better treatment. Most wizards were too stupid to realise that just because you spoke in a sort of strangled patois it didn't mean you were stupid, or less worthy of respect. Hermione Granger had taken steps to improve their diction, and get them speaking up for themselves.

"Is there anything I can get you, Mistress Audacia?"

"A cup of tea would be good," I said. The elf vanished with a loud crack, and I made a mental note to see if I could ask her to muffle the noise.

"Well, it looks like you're about ready to settle in," said Potter. "I'd better get on with the planning for next week. Let me know if you need any help – I'm just over the hall."

Left to my own devices, I explored my office. There was little of interest in the bookshelves; a full Potions kit and set of first-year textbooks occupied one cupboard. _Thank you Rose,_ I thought. Plinky had helpfully labelled the drawers of the desk in tiny, spidery handwriting. _Ever-Replenish Parchment. Unquenchable Ink. Detention Forms. _There was a Slytherin house-point indicator on one corner, presumably to boost morale or encourage improvement from the staff down. The top of the desk was inlaid with a large snake, its eye formed by the inkwell. I felt a little weird putting a bottle of ink in it; it seemed to give the creature a more lifelike, purposeful appearance. There were two portraits on the walls, but they were empty – visiting friends at a feast-scene, probably. And there, in one corner, was the Blue Chair.

Its legs were carved into lions' feet, which I knew from experience with wizarding furniture was a bad sign.

"Come over here, chair," I said. Reluctantly, the feet shuffled a few inches towards the desk. Right.

Scanning Plinky's labelling system, I found the drawer marked _Stashonry_ (hmm) and acquired a paperclip. I tossed it at the blue chair.

There was a small, sulphurous flash-bang. I looked carefully at the invitingly comfortable-looking chair seat.

The paperclip had not landed.

"Huh."

I sat at my desk, pulled out a quill and parchment, and set about writing to my parents. Plinky appeared with the cup of tea, Lady Grey with milk in it.

"How did you know how I liked it?"

Plinky blushed. I didn't press her.

"Plinky, I've just finished this. Could you take it to the Owlery and send it off for me?"

"Certainly Mistress Audacia! Is there anything else which Plinky can do?"

I sensed that the little elf was very keen to get on well in her new post. Looking after a professor personally was probably a much more prestigious job for an elf than cleaning the armour or making the food.

"Actually, I really want to find somewhere with an Internet connection, but I don't think you'll manage that."

Plinky thought for a moment – pulling her delicate ears out as if to stretch her brain – and then snapped her brittle fingers.

"Mistress should use the Come And Go Room!"

I followed Plinky up three or four flights of stairs, around uncountable corners, and along a corridor where a tapestry of a wizard and several tutu-wearing trolls fluttered in the draught.

"Mistress must walk past this place three times, always thinking of what is needed, and the door will open," explained Plinky.

"I'll try," I said.

_IT suite, IT suite, IT suite...proper PCs though, not a Mac... what am I thinking, Hogwarts has never heard of Apple... IT suite, IT suite, IT suite..._

There was an almost imperceptible change in the air, and a tiny click. A door had formed in the wall. Plinky nodded happily to herself and disappeared.

I pushed the door open, hardly daring to hope...

I should not have bothered. Poor Hogwarts. It had not been programmed – or enchanted, for that matter – to replicate Muggle technology. The room was about the size of a normal classroom, with rows of desks. A basket of apples was phasing in and out of existence. Twelve typewriters faced each other across the rows of desks, with neat white parchment ready-loaded into them. I moved around to look at the keys. As I watched, the slightly Gothic type began to move by itself, writing:

ERROR

WE APOLOGISE THAT YOUR DESIRE IS NOT RECOGNISED

"No worries, Room," I murmured. "It was a long shot."

I looked back at the typewriter. Self-typing... that would save even more time and effort than a Gemini spell, if I could dictate to a typewriter. Could I take it out of the Room? There was only one way to find out.

Carefully, so as not to put my back out, I lifted the heavy machine off the desk – and almost kicked myself. _For goodness sake, are you a witch or a Squob?_

"Wingardium Leviosa," I pronounced, carefully, waving my wand as I had seen in the first-year book earlier.

Wobbling a good deal, the typewriter floated off the table, and I induced it to follow me down to my office. It was almost as exhausting as carrying it myself – but then, I wasn't used to magic.


End file.
